Out of the Frying Pan

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“Hello Mr. Lebherz, follow me.  I am Dr. Ping Pyong.”  I shook his hand, entered his office.  My girlfriend came behind me which made me worry that I might have to take my clothes off with the lights on. 

“I am chief of Kidney Transplant surgery. Could you loosen your pants and lie back on the examining table?  Do you have diabetes?” he asked.  Yes, for 25 years, for many years, my blood sugar was out of control.  I still eat cookies.

He said he needed to check the pulse in my pelvis.  He stuck his hand in my pants and lay it flat right next to my special parts.  I told my girlfriend to close her eyes, which the doctor found amusing.  I made another astute comment that I thought my pulse was in my wrist.  I looked at my girlfriend and rolled my eyes as if I was enjoying this.  Unfortunately my body is big, my special part is not.  If he moved his hand just slightly to the right he would feel this.  I broke out into a sweat.  He removed his hand and with a frown said your pulse is weak.  Strangely, my girlfriend said she already knew this.  She was frowning too.  I just can’t win these days.

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The Saturday Night Crowd

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The Saturday night crowd partied together for over forty years.

It was 1969: The first guest would arrive at my parents’ home around 8 pm, Hi Bob, Hi Ann!  That’s when my brother and I would go to the top step of our stairs and listen in.  Gin, Bourbon, and Scotch were consumed in large amounts, along with many cigarettes, the smoke rising up the stairway.

My uncle Bill was always telling corny jokes. He’d say that he has reservations about Indians–he calls them his Indian reservations. Mrs. Curtis and Mrs. Rice looking stunning in their newest swanky outfits. My mother the perfect host, smelling wonderful with her Chanel Number Five, she was the life of the party.  There could be as many as thirty people there, almost every Saturday for nearly forty years.  The Cold War with the Atomic bomb, pressures from working, and raising families, these cocktail parties were a welcome relief.

My generation might say to them, “Party on, dudes.”

Fireflies, Fireworks and Sparklers

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Our annual Fourth of July football game was under way.  Little kids, senior citizens, even girls were allowed to play. I was going only half-speed as I had already eaten two hotdogs and two hamburgers. Even with this massive load in my stomach I caught a touchdown thrown by my uncle Frank. He could play with a cigarette in his mouth–that takes talent. When he gave the football to his son, little Frankie ran the wrong way and kept going until he was tackled in my neighbor’s yard. The turnout was big this year–nearly a hundred cousins and friends. All together in our front yard. I was proud. We were drinking, sweating and swatting away gnats. At dark the fireflies came out, then fireworks and sparklers.

Happy Fourth of July

Getting Old Is No Fun

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For as long as I remember I have been bad. Nearly expelled from a Catholic elementary school I had punched a nun in the stomach.  She hit me first.  Making up sins to tell the priest in confession–my penance was so long I pissed while kneeling at the altar.  For doing this I may not go straight to heaven.  At school lunch I would take other kids’ food. This lead to weight gain since I mostly took cookies. I was obsessed with girls bodies, always picturing in my mind what they looked like naked. This was not a learned behavior. It came to me naturally.

As I have gotten much older, I still have bad thoughts–I just don’t act on them. Getting old is no fun.

Death in the Country

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My little brother’s cat had four toes on one paw, six on the other. We called him Toes.  It was raining cats and dogs when my oldest brother jumped into his Jeep, pulled away, ran over Toes’ head, kept on going. My little brother looked out the window and saw a bloody Toes running in circles. He let out a scream. My older brother and I ran to investigate. Toes head was shaped like a triangle. There was lots of blood. An eye was popping out. Toes never ran but was now running full speed in circles. Dave commanded, “Get the gun.” This meant I had to go into my parents’ closet and grab the .22 rifle we were forbidden to touch. I also had to go back three times to grab bullets as my brother kept missing. The third shot hit right in the brain. The poor pussycat started jumping two feet in the air and wouldn’t stop. “Get the shovel,” my brother yelled. A strong whack in the head finally did the trick. My little brother was traumatized for hours. We all were.

Enjoy the Small Things

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People on dialysis can have what experts call “fuzzy thinking.”  I had this before dialysis so it doesn’t bother me.

I’ve learned to enjoy the small things in life.  Small bites of pizza, small shots of booze, and small breasts.  You never know what life is going to throw at you.  I think my girlfriend would like to throw bricks.  Fortunately my head can break brick and there would only be a small wound.  My aches and pains are rapidly trying to turn me into a old man. Thank goodness I retain the mind of a sixteen-year-old. That I hope never changes.

How to Quit

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I’ve worked over forty-nine jobs in the Frederick County area.  That’s given me a wide range of work experiences, especially how to quit and how to get fired.  I now command salaries of up to nine dollars an hour.

At my last job, my boss, Jena, a rather attractive woman asked me to please get to work. I winked at her and said, “Jena, there is nothing wrong with getting a little behind.”
That was my last day there.

I have sales experience in jewelry, real estate, fire alarms, frozen steaks, furniture, and marijuana. None of these jobs was lucrative, but selling marijuana helped me to get laid once.

One of my qualities is that I take jobs that require mindless labor and no responsibility, and focus on getting to know my co-workers.  On the clock, I’m a real people person.

My main requirement now is that I work with women. My motto has always been: Work hard, play hard, but don’t play hard to get.  I’ve always appreciated promiscuous female co-workers–without them, I wouldn’t have had nearly as much sex on the job.

I’m currently seeking employment as a Mystery Shopper inside dialysis clinics.  Keeping a close eye on nurses comes naturally to me.

When I look back at my past, I can see that my future has to be better. It can’t be any worse.  It is always darkest just before the light.